


Flour Hour

by bertlebear



Series: Forever Childish -AOT Christmas 2020 Drabbles [3]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Baking, Christmas Cookies, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Special, Cooking, F/M, Fluff, Food Fight, Kissing, M/M, Other, Short & Sweet, prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:02:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28282875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bertlebear/pseuds/bertlebear
Summary: Armin believes the best way to enjoy Christmas is to bake cookies with you. It’s endearing of him to think so, as you bring more trouble to the table than he anticipated.
Relationships: Armin Arlert & Reader, Armin Arlert/Reader
Series: Forever Childish -AOT Christmas 2020 Drabbles [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2068209
Kudos: 43





	Flour Hour

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Armin deserves happiness and I wanted to deliver.

“Is this the right amount of flour?”

You sigh for the third time that evening, beneficial to him for being cautious as much as it sacrificed your diminishing patience. “Even if I answered you either way you would still just measure and pour the flour back and forth to check.”

Armin’s narrows his eyes at the beaker and holds it up again, frowning at your valid point before chuckling with a nod. He pours the mixture into the larger bowl, fingers brushing away the stray lock of hair that drifts across his forehead. Recalling the black scrunchie across the counter, you take it and approach him to secure his hair back. He doesn’t protest and murmurs thanks while beginning to mix the batter, wooden spoon rotating in one hand while the metal bowl is clutched firmly in his other.

Observing him for a couple seconds, you’re leaning back against the counter and tilting your head to inverse yourself in the music occurring from the old radio. The beat is slow and lulling, with the maracas and soft pattering of drums dragging you into a trance, lyrics softly spoken and heartfelt. In other words you could claim that it was romantic, not overly so with peaceful jazz in the back ground— however your drifting thoughts pass quicker than you can grasp them, and still one phrase catches vibrant in mind: _This atmosphere fits best with him._

“The station really knows when to pick the matching songs for us.”

Once he senses that you’re still lingering behind him does his voice decide to break the bubble, you hadn’t even noticed those blue irises had fixated themselves in concern. They were like spotlights to you, innocently curious and pitching in for conversation. 

“Ah…” You’re glad there’s an excuse right in front of you, gracefully snatching it out of the air. “There’s just some flour stuck on your face.”

He jumps a little while you wipe the powdery substance off with your thumb. Something in his relaxed posture told you that he was too reverent, or quite possibly even having already came to a conclusion to not question your distracted state. Wide eyes fix onto your concentrated gaze, however you refuse to meet his enthralled features, afraid of the heat that was sue to burn across your body. Finally after several heartbeats do you stare, realizing more damage had been done and stifle the forthcoming laughter.

“What’s wrong?” Turns out your childish behaviour is infectious as Armin smiles, the action uncontrollably tried at supressing. 

“I think I’m just spreading it around some more.”

“Well,” A light chuckle is let out, his hands moving from the now prepared batter to pick at the leftover flour from the table. “Since you were supposed to clean up the table and didn’t, I guess I’ll have to help you along.” 

You yelp when he throws it at your face, vision squinting and nerves rapid to sense the small particles hurtled at bare skin. The sensation could be mistaken for snow, soft but tickling your nose as Armin grinned, the task at hand completely forgotten. Payback needed to be sought, so you relented. Another batch of flour was hurled onto him, and as he wipes frantically at his face, the realization is you’re in closer proximity then you thought.

The mischievous idea you were about to employ was beyond your own fathom it seems. Hands descend to his forearms to trap him in place, and Armin is locked against the counter. Kissing was the last thing on your mind upon originally starting, but this was deliciously funny, so much that you couldn’t refuse the opportunity. He’s aware of the growing intimacy, if not by the slow pants and slight lean of his back in an attempt to create additional distance.

Descending is the only option now. The kiss starts out sweet, tiny pecks shared between several seconds, almost as if to test the waters. Then Armin’s hands settle over your apron and things escalate for a moment, his tongue swiping over your moistened lips. A broken gasp escapes your throat, and the remains of your smirk remain etched. He pulls away beside you to give space and it’s his comfort bubble that has been entered, the both of you in awe at the unfolding affection shimmering between your shared breaths.

You’re the first to speak. “That was amazing.”

“I think you should clean up while I put the cookies in the oven, we don’t want to fall again.” Armin gestures towards the tabletop, shaking his head and failing to hide his flustered smile. “You’re always trying to pull me aside at the most random of moments.”

He only means good, and you can’t help but chuckle and make your short way to the countertop, a spring in your steps.

Ingredients are scattered everywhere and you finally battle the dirty mess, time passing by faster than you expected. Protests aren’t made though— after all there was absolutely nothing to complain about. The both of you kept exchanging glances here and there however, maybe wondering, and even hoping if it could happen again similar to that exact precise mood and instant. There weren’t any guarantees, but the single idea of the fleeting touches turning into something more caused your heart to throb, knowing him this wouldn’t be the last time ever. 

“It tastes weird.” Finally do you settle down to sample the cookies, nose wrinkling at the unpleasant crunch and placing it back down on the plate. “I could’ve sworn we got everything down.” 

Armin rubs the back of his neck. “I probably didn’t mix the baking soda enough.”

“Want to try it again?” You knew chances were slim but you had faith that with enough pushing he could crumble. To be fair, admitting that you were craving for more warm memories like previously could never be results of being selfish— he had obviously wanted it as well.

“I don’t know, it’s getting pretty late…” He shrugs, in the midst of hesitantly contemplating however in the end doesn’t get any say regardless when you grab him sternly by the wrist and tugged him out of his seat. 

**“** The third time’s the charm. Don’t be scared, what could go wrong?”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are appreciated! Hope you enjoyed :)


End file.
